


The Only Way We Know

by fructoselollipop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fructoselollipop/pseuds/fructoselollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TinyBat prompted: Wrangling the younger agents and forcing them out of the bus for the evening for the sake of quiet and a civil dinner. Turns out I mis-read this prompt and so it turned into kind of a reversal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Way We Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TinyBat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyBat/gifts).



"So, got any big plans for tomorrow, A-C?"

Coulson is automatically suspicious. Skye only ever pulls out that nickname when she wants to annoy him to the point of giving into whatever it is she's about to ask. "Well, pending any missions coming down from HQ... no. I do have a stack of paperwork that I've been avoiding. You'd think that since we deal in advanced technology and aliens we'd have abolished paperwork, at least the paper part of it anyway, but you'd be wrong. We're still a government agency, after all, and we all know what they say about--" He stops talking when he realizes Skye is staring at him like his head just rolled off his shoulders. "What?"

"I think I just discovered how to fall asleep with my eyes open," Skye says.

"Cute," Coulson replies. _I think I just discovered what it is to have a teenage daughter_. Except Skye's hardly a teenager anymore and he's hardly her father, and it's a sore subject so he doesn't say anything of the sort aloud. "Why?"

Skye shrugs and takes another bite of her cereal. She doesn’t even swallow before she responds, and Coulson has to remind himself again that he’s not her dad, lest he reprimand her. “Just wondering if you and May were going to do anything for the holiday.”

“What holiday?”

This time she does clear her mouth, though he suspects it’s so she can give him a more effective look of incredulity. “What, seriously? Are you paying attention to the calendar at all? _Valentine’s Day_.”

Coulson has had years of training in keeping a straight face, and it is only due to that that he is able to do so now. “Skye, Agent May and I are not a couple.”

Skye actually laughs at that. “Yeah, sure you’re not.” Her smile slips a little when she realizes Coulson isn’t nearly as amused as she is. “Come on, Coulson! There’s a reason we all call you guys ‘Mom and Dad,’ and it’s not just because you’re old.”

_Old? Et tu Skye?_ Coulson huffs, but otherwise doesn’t immediately reply. It’s hard to miss the earnestness in her face. He opens his mouth once, then closes. Finally he says, “Do you _all_ really call us that?”

“Well, me and Fitzsimmons do at least. Ward seems to think it’s ‘insubordination.’” She makes the air quotes around the word, and Coulson is thankfully deprived of knowing that Ward has referred to May as “mom” in _any_ context.

“More to the point,” he says hastily, before any unwelcome images associated with that thought enter his brain, “do you really think May is the type to celebrate Valentine’s Day, regardless of her relationship status?”

Skye bobs her head from side to side and makes a few “hmm” noises, as if trying to imagine a traditional Valentine’s scenario that she could actually see May in, and ultimately comes up short. “Okay, fine, but you guys still deserve a nice night together.” She nudges him. “You especially have had it rough lately. I just thought it’d be cool if you got to spend _some_ time with her that _didn’t_ involve fire fights and crazy alien objects and stuff. You know. Dinner. Something normal.”

“’Normal’ isn’t me, Skye,” Coulson explains patiently. She doesn’t know about the Cellist, after all. “And it _definitely_ isn’t May.”

 

The next evening finds him in his office doing the promised paperwork, his conversation with Skye (and, once again, the date) forgotten, for the most part. At some point May intercoms him to tell him to strap in for landing, so he brings the sheaf of paper and a clipboard to the seat in the corner with the safety belt and continues working as if there had been no interruption.

An hour later, there are two taps on his door – May’s knock – and she enters before he’s opened his mouth to say so.

“Where are we,” he asks without looking up.

“Honolulu,” she replies, then adds (no doubt because she knew he would ask), “7:30 local time.”

Coulson sighs and looks pointlessly at his watch, then sets aside the clipboard. He shifts his gaze to May, who is waiting patiently in the doorframe, her hands clasped in front of her. “We on a mission?”

She smiles at that, barely noticeable perhaps to outsiders, but it’s like a beacon of light to him. “Nope. We’re going to dinner.”

He frowns. That’s odd, May hates group social events. “Who is?” He asks.

“You and me. The others generously offered to stay behind on the bus so we could have some alone time.”

_Blunt as ever._ Coulson suddenly remembers the conversation with Skye and he stands, smiling apologetically. “Ah, did Skye get to you too? I told her that we’re not a couple, but –“

“Actually, it was Simmons,” May interrupts. She has an odd look on her face, the corner of her mouth still turned up in that smile of hers. “I think they’re all conspiring to get us off the bus.”

“To what? Go on a date?” Coulson huffs as he buttons his suit jacket. He meets her gaze and for the first time in a long time finds it completely unreadable. “Melinda, we’re not a couple.”

She doesn’t flinch, look away, or drop her smile when she replies, “No, I suppose we’re not.” She turns slightly, her eyes never leaving his, inclines her head toward the back of the plane, then leaves without another word.

Coulson follows her without question.

Lola is running when he gets downstairs and May is putting something into the trunk, the youngest three members of the team watching with great apparent interest from the lab. Coulson stops by before he gets in the car.

“May and I are going to dinner.” He says, omitting the ‘apparently’ addendum his mind supplied him. “I expect this bus to look exactly how we left it when we get back. Ward is in charge.”

“Yes, _Dad_ ,” Fitz says, and Skye and Simmons both break into giggles.

Coulson ignores them and turns to leave. He could swear he hears the sound of a high five being slapped.

 

They’ve barely been gone five minutes when Coulson can’t hold it back anymore. “Alright, what’s really going on?”

“Left here,” May replies and he finds himself automatically responding to her command.

“I mean, we’re really not going on some romantic Valentine’s Day date, right? There’s something going on, like a gifted getting into trouble, or a new supplier of alien tech coming out of the wood work?”

To that, May says nothing, doesn’t even look at him, and he’s familiar enough with this kind of non-speech to know that means _yes_. Satisfied that Melinda hasn’t suddenly warped into the kind of woman who expects romance on Valentine’s Day, nor is determined to make _him_ the object of that romance, he says nothing more on the subject while they drive.

When she directs him to a perfectly normal restaurant in downtown Honolulu, he convinces himself that someone (or something) inside it is the real object of interest for this outing. When May gives her favorite alias for the hostess to find their reservation, he surmises that they are temporarily undercover while whatever they are there for presents itself. And, when the first twenty minutes of their ‘dinner’ pass without incident, he begins to doubt.

May has barely spoken since they’ve arrived, but that’s hardly out of the ordinary for her. Coulson fills the empty stretches of silence with chatter, as he always does when it’s the two of them together, all while keeping his ears peeled for any suspicious conversation nearby. When the waitress brings them their wine, he scrutinizers her heavily, determined to find something supernatural or extraterrestrial about her, but she is perfectly normal.

His intent must have been obvious, because May finally speaks, not looking up from her menu.

“Skye was right, you need to relax.”

Coulson snaps his head up to look at her so fast he feels something pop in his neck. “What? You mean… we really are just having dinner?”

“We will be when our food arrives, yes.”

Any complaints or reprimands die on his lips. That bit of cheek was the closest thing to the old Melinda that he’s heard in a long time, and it gives him the feeling of something squeezing his heart rather painfully. And just like that, the feeling subsides, along with any arguments against this outing that he had before. Well, except for one.

“…What about Ward?”

Again May doesn’t look up, but she says as casually as you please, “I ended things with Ward. It was getting too personal.”

The question slips out before he can stop it. “For you or him?”

This time, she does lift her eyes to give him a cold, piercing gaze, and he shrinks a little under it. “Him.” She says emphatically. She purses her lips, as if debating whether or not it’s wise to continue this thread of conversation. “I think he was jealous of you.”

That comes as a surprise to Coulson. He remembers with distinction telling Ward about his relationship with the Cellist. If nothing else, that should have been a big indication that nothing was going on between himself and May. “What, why?”

May shrugs and returns to her menu. “Probably because of our history.”

Coulson stares at her. In all their shared time at a top secret government agency, their _history_ is the most private thing between them. They’ve barely even spoken about it with each other, much less told another living soul – at least he hasn’t. For all they each talk about the separation of personal feelings from the job, the two of them learned early on that, provided they didn’t allow themselves to be compromised emotionally on the other’s behalf, a certain element of personal attachment actually enhanced their working relationship. The complete and total trust, the silent language, being able to read each other without even looking at one another – those are all things that would never have developed if they hadn’t taken to sleeping with each other on occasion back in the day. And, so far, it’s served them well. No one has ever suspected before, or, at least, not dragged any suspicions into the light. So that Ward has anything tangible to be jealous of in the first place is, frankly, both alarming and upsetting.

“I didn’t tell him,” Melinda continues, correctly reading his silence. “But, some of it _is_ obvious. In this case the fact that I trust you above and beyond any other person on this planet. Certainly above him. I don’t think he likes having that kind of competition.” She shrugs. “And now he doesn’t. More’s the better. Now he can finally explore his feelings for _someone else_ without the guilt.”

“Someone else?” Coulson asks, confused. “Who?”

But, to that, May keeps Ward’s confidence, and the subject drops, leaving Coulson with an uncomfortable out-of-sorts feeling. Here he is sitting at a decidedly non-S.H.I.E.L.D. related dinner, something he hasn’t done since the Cellist, and with Melinda May of all people. It’s kind of off putting to see her sitting across from him, still wearing her S.H.I.E.L.D. issue uniform and everything, drinking wine and eating shrimp like it is the most _normal_ thing in the world.

He decides he likes it. He and May will never have what might be considered a conventional relationship, but conventional has never served him or his partners well in the past. Big S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t approve of breaking protocol, but he’s beyond caring what big S.H.I.E.L.D. thinks at this point regardless. Her hand is sitting on the table next to her wine glass and, feeling bold, he rests his on top of it.

Their eyes barely have time to meet when the sound of gunfire and glass shattering, followed quickly by screams and shouts of the restaurant’s patrons, interrupt the tender moment. _Of course_.

“Later.” Melinda says and it sounds like a promise. Then they both spring into action.

 

Skye is covering her face with her palm and shaking her head when Coulson and May limp back aboard the bus later, each looking as distinctly ruffled as one can after such an experience. Coulson’s fairly certain he’s sprained his ankle, and May looks every bit the part of someone who’s had to escape a burning building. Probably because she just did.  

“What happened?” Skye groans once May has disappeared upstairs. “You were supposed to be celebrating Valentine’s Day!”

“We did.” Coulson insists. “We just… celebrated it the only way we know how.”


End file.
